Total Pro Wrestling: The Journey

[WVUFAN]

Total Pro Wrestling is an online RPG Wrestling league ran by Shawn Pearce, and has a core group of people who play. The people have been playing in the league or similar league for over a decade, so there's a lot of history. This dynasty is designed to cover the wrestlers I control in the league, and their journey.

I control two wrestlers in Total Pro: Damien Omega, a 239 pound technical wrestler and current fan favorite, and Dave Hatfield, a 260 pound brawler from West Virginia.

[WVUFAN]

Damien Omega

Born: 1975
From: Niagra Falls, NY

Damien is a self-professed "purist" of wrestling, who believes that much of today's style of wrestling takes away from what wrestling should be: a competition of ability and talent. He's not a fan of no-rules wrestling, and he thinks things would be a lot better if people didn't leave chairs and tables lying around ringside. If you can beat someone inside the ring, that's what matters.

HISTORY

VCW (1994-1996)
Damien started his career as a wrestler named "Actagon" in a federation called "Virtual Championship Wrestling". He thought he was LITERALLY the God of Wrestling, and fought an equally strange gimmick wrestler named Blind Melon Chitlin, who believed himself to be blind (which, of course, he wasn't). Things in VCW between them were rough, and at one point Actagon was captured and tortured by Chitlin. Soon afterward, both left the fed for other pastures.

IeWS (1996-1998)
Actagon, scarred by his fight with Blind Melon Chitlin, moved to another federation called IWS, or the International Wrestling Superstars and changed his name to Damien Omega, and losing the "god of wrestling" gimmick, He captured his first title, the North American championship for a 6 month period, then moving on to defeat Torvald Reikkerson for the IeWS Championship, which he held for a few months before dropping it to Reikkerson again.

Continental (2000-2003)
A move to a national federation was next for Damien, as well as a change in attitude. Damien decided that fans were the reason why wrestling was so poor, that they didn't appreciate the purity of the sport. With his partner Doctor Feelgood, he captured the Continental Tag Team Titles before the federation died.

Total Pro (2003-present)

[WVUFAN]

Total Pro (Week 1)

As Damien made his way to a new organization, Total Pro, on his first night, he got a shocker -- his old enemy Blind Melon Chitlin and his partner, Hoss Tumbleweed was also here ...

Total Pro #1, Part 5: http://jwhealton.googlepages.com/1Apartfive.txt
Full Show here: http://jwhealton.googlepages.com/tpwcardarchive

Originally Posted by Total Pro #1

{The camera opens up on the interior of a rather well worn pickup truck.
The girlie air freshener has warranted a digitized blur in post-production
and the driver seems a bit upset.}

[Hoss Tumbleweed]
"Yew gittin' this boy? If'n yew ain't then I'll flattin' ya right chere, right now!"

{The camera nods. Old VCW fans recognize the driver as Hoss Tumbleweed. The brawny Texan is fatter, angrier, and meaner by the looks of him. Gray has creeped into his lop-sided moustache and some of the tobacco stains on his chin and stretched t-shirt may date back to his glory days in the ring. A frantic pounding on the horn and accompanying
gestures (digitized as well) knocks his dirty Stetson askew.}

[Hoss]
"Keep the dang camera on the road. When I grabbed yew fer this,
I wanted ev'ryone ta see it. Them piles of bull squeezins at SWA
Total Pro 're payin' good money fer this. Don'tcha miss it."

{A beefy paw reaches over and turns the camera to film out of the
windshield catching Hoss swerving to narrowly miss a Toyota 4Runner.}

[Hoss]
"Good fer nuthin' ferreners cain't drive! Hail ain't been
none of them winning NASCAR, and that's the reason why!"

{A rumbling from deep in Hoss' ample gut that sounds like a longhorn
with emphysema acts as a throat clear and proceeds a long winded
explanation for this escapade.}

[Hoss]
"A while back I was sitting on the porch at the old homestead shootin
crows when the phone rang. It was SWA Total Pro lookin fer champeens,
they said their outfit had a bunch of young punks signed up who couldn't
win a fight at Bingo night in Florida. I tells them that that's a
cryin' shame, that's what they git trying to use the udder-suckin'
milk drinkers of today. I seen 'em, can't hold a candle ta Hoss, I
tells them. Hail, I got boots older'n some of them.

Anyhow the suits tell Hoss that they need him, and I coulda told them
that. What about all the old guys? I ask em. They start rattlin' off
names that is older than Big Bill Shakespeare's frilly drawers. I tell
'em that them artifacts can't fight, never could. No wonder they ain't
got a sniff of credability.

Then they start beggin. They said, 'Hoss, yer're the meanest, toughest
SOB we could find, and the only one who could help us out the mess
we're in.' Now I ain't got to tell ya, I knew that before they even
asked me. 'Yew're shootin' the sasparilla inta my coondawg,' I told
'em and they tried to act like they didn't know what I was talking
about.

{The camera swings back over to Hoss and his bloodshot eyes narrow
into slits with a sideward glance.}

[Hoss]
"Yew eyeballin' me, son?"

{A blur sweeps across the screen as the camera once again looks upon the road.}

[Hoss]
"So I tells 'em. Yew want Hoss, yew do Hoss' way. No questions,
no bellyachin', no cryin'. That's why we're going where we're goin.
As bigga mess as they got in Total Pro, requires drastic measures.
It's gonna take a lot ta make men outta them sissies, an' this here
is where it begins.

{The pickup truck takes a severe turn onto a quiet country street
in a quiet country town. Mainstreet USA looms before them with a
hardware store, diner, barbershop, and combination courthouse-police
station ahead. For all intents and purposes, it looks like Hoss
has arrived in Mayberry. The big Texan slows his rusting ride to
a creep and forces the camera to the right.}

[Hoss]
"Take a gander at that, boy. First time in nary a decade anybody
in 'rasslin's seen this sonnuva' tenth generation cur s'far as I
reckon. Gotcher' life insurance paid up, boy?"

{As Hoss' pickup rolls on, the camera focuses on the back of a
lanky figure standing next to the front wheel of what is probably
the town's only police car, with his legs slightly spread and his
arms at his sides with his hands disappearing at hip level. Hoss
stops the truck about eight feet away from the man and gives three
quick blasts of the horn.}

[Hoss]
"Give it two shakes and let's get a move on! Thar's heads waitin'
to be busted!"

{The camera, which had been focusing on the ground near the police
cruiser's tire where the headwaters of a small new river had begun
flowing, slowly begins panning up as Hoss' new traveling companion
approaches the vehicle, wearing a pair of battered combat boots,
frayed Levis with a ragged hole in the left knee, and a soiled poncho}

[Faceless voice through gritted teeth]
"It's about time! I thought the guards conveniently forgot
to send out my letter {camera pans up to the lower half of his face}
*CHINGA*!!!"

{Blind Melon Chitlin's scowling visage fills the screen, framed
by the passenger-side window of the F150. The russet hue of his
skin looks a bit more weathered than the last time he graced the
VCW's Globe Sports Theater several years ago. A jagged scar follows
the arch of his left eyebrow, barely visible behind the upper rim of
his wraparound sunglasses. A single earring in the shape of some
long-forgotten Aztec icon dances against his neck, and the
familiar malevolent smirk has not faded with time.}

[Hoss]
"Git your butt in the cab - we got us about six hours a' drivin'
ahead of us. I gotcha' a git outta jail present under the seat."

{BMC fumbles under his seat, pulls out a bottle of Jose Cuervo
tequila, takes a long, greedy swig, and wipes his mouth with his
sleeve.}

[BMC]
"Like mother's milk, hombre. So where the hell are we going?"

[Hoss]
"We're headin' south...the dirty south...Atlanta-ways."

[BMC] {struggling frantically with the car door}
"NO FRIGGIN' WAY, HUEVON!!! You drop me off right here, right
now! You remember what happened *"

[Hoss]
"Shut your whinin' hole fer a minute and let me tell ya' why we're
headin' there. Seems these frilly-drawered boys from Atlanta called
me up and begged me to join their new rasslin' league. I tells 'em
the only way I'm in is if I can bring along a {clears his throat} 'colleague.'"

[BMC]
{spits his latest swig of tequila out the passenger-side window}
"If that *mariposa* Big Guillermo Shakespeare or any of his
repressive VCW regime are involved, there's no way I'm going."

[Hoss]
"Don't git yer grundies in a wash. He ain't got nothin' to do with
it. Some other fellas be runnin' it."

[BMC]
"Anybody we know gonna' be there?"

[Hoss]
"You remember some big 'ol boy named Ernie Grendel?"

[BMC]
"Está fregado! You could put Ernie Douglas from My Three Sons in
tights and get better wrestling out of him than that friggin' slob."

[Hoss]
"Here's a blast from the past * Damien Omega."

[BMC]
"Ha! That worthless heap of dog mierda has the gall to show his
face in public after I humiliated him time and time again back in
the VCW? I guess it's true what they say about the Greeks"

[Hoss]
{giving BMC a bewildered look after his last comment}
"What the...? Anyways, they got a buncha' other no-namers they
think we're gonna' job to just to git 'em over. The money ain't
what it used to be, but I figgered an ex-con like you could use a
fresh start in life and we ain't gittin' any younger or prettier,
so I told 'em 'ol Hoss would show up with a friend or two in tow
to shore up their pathetic roster."

[BMC]
"After being stuck in that stinking backwater jail for so long,
hell, I'd even agree to work for that crooked gang of suits
running the Summit that undercut me in all those supercards
back in the day."

[Hoss] {chuckling slightly}
"Yeah, I remember. Say, yer letter didn't say how long or why you
was in the hooskow! You wasn't actually in there for the eight
years since we was down in..."

[BMC]
{holding his left hand out as to physically halt Hoss from saying
any more} "You don't worry about where, why, or how long I was
anywhere. It will all become clear in due time. Speaking of my
letter, however, did you get what I asked you to bring?"

[Hoss]
"Yeah - that storage locker feller didn't wanna' negotiate on the
eight years wortha' rent at first, but you know all about my powers
of persuasion*"

[BMC]
{grabbing Hoss by the collar} "DON'T BORE ME WITH YOUR TRIFLING
ANECDOTES - WHERE IS IT?!?!"

[Hoss]
{slapping BMC's arm away} "Git your mits off me you swarthy slob.
It's in the back of the truck. You're lucky I got a compassionate
heart. I know you been locked up fer a while, but save your energy
fer these other toads we're gonna' be hookin' up with in Atlanta."

[BMC]
"You've right, my friend...you're right. Just get me the hell out
of here and we'll make our plans on the way. There's a lot of
unfinished business we must attend to. {turning to the camera}
This is the end of the road for you, chinga."

{The shot flips wildly as BMC unceremoniously drags the cameraman
out of the back of the cab, throws him onto the gravel road, and
spits at the lens. Hoss' thunderous laughter is drowned out
by the screech of the balding back tires spitting shrapnel back
at the cameraman as the rusting hulk straightens out from a fishtail
and rumbles out of sight.}

[WVUFAN]

Episode 2 of Total Pro opens with Hoss and Chitlin slowly making their way to Atlanta, the home of Total Pro ...

Week 2 Part 1 -- http://jwhealton.googlepages.com/1Bpartone.txt
Full Show -- http://jwhealton.googlepages.com/tpwcardarchive

Originally Posted by Total Pro Week 2

{A montage of roadside shots fills the screen: picturesque rows of towering pines...endless expanses of kudzu encroaching upon the edges of the roadway like a leafy high tide...the occasional stately plantation home keeping a silent vigil over the surrounding cotton fields...an empty Jose Cuervo bottle shattering into a million sparkling glass droplets against a
highway sign on I-85 reading 'Atlanta 18 miles." The camera then cuts to
the inside of the truck, where Hoss Tumbleweed is driving and Blind Melon
Chitlin is in the passenger seat)

[Blind Melon Chitlin]
"*censored*, I HATE THE SOUTH!!! Why in Tezcatlipoca's name
would anyone want to be in this zenith of inbreeding and toothless
Stuckey's night managers?"

[Hoss Tumbleweed]
"You know what they says about toothless gals frem At-lanta,
don't you boy?"

[BMC]
"Probably the same thing they say about toothless putas from
Dallas, Chinga."

[Hoss]
(taking off his Stetson and whacking BMC in the head with it):
"Shet yer hole about Texas, boy. I know ya' been cooped up in a 6'
by 9' fer a spell, but ya' don't go bad mouthin' Texas by comparin'
it to this God-awful sweatbox."

[BMC]
"Yeah, yeah, yeah. It's not your fault Santa Anna got the runs
at San Jacinto and left Texas to be overrun by imperialist dogs."

[Hoss]
"Save yer' history book belly-achin' fer someone who gives a
bullsnort. We got us a payin' job kickin' greenhorns' tails down here.
Should be like shootin' fish in a barrel." (Hoss reaches into the
cooler behind the seat and hands BMC a Lone Star) "Take this - Dr.
Hoss says eight or nine o' these oughta calm your nerves."

[BMC]
(popping the top and blowing away the foam): "Gracias, Chinga,
gracias. It has been a long, loathsome trail I've been on since we
parted ways." (takes a long, deep guzzle) "After the years of
discrimination and repression by Big Guillermo Shakespeare, I thought
anything, ANYWHERE would be an improvement. I left everything
behind...mi amigo, Marcelle, mi hermano, mi MADRE..." (angrily
trails off, finishes the beer, throws the empty out the window
and pops another one open) "The empire I built from NADA ... all
left behind. And NOW look where I end up ... the friggin' armpit
of America ... the..."

[Hoss]
"Hold on thar', pard', you left out a goodly chunk of about
seven or eight years, includin' yer little stint in the hooskow.
Fill me in on some details, boy."

[BMC]
(looking down at the beer can resting between his legs and lowering
his voice to a hiss): "In time, Chinga, in time. Only I will decide
when the time is right..." (a few moments of silence) "STOP THE
TRUCK, CHINGA!!!"

{BMC's beer splatters around the cab as he wildly kicks his left leg
over Hoss, trying to jam the brake pedal while Hoss tries to maintain
control over the F150. After the truck swerves in and out of every
lane of traffic for a few seconds, Hoss pushes BMC over to his side
of the truck and brings the vehicle to a screeching halt on the
shoulder. BMC tumbles out the door, falling to all fours briefly
before scrambling back up and leaping into the bed of the pickup.
Hoss slamming his door as he leaves the cab, pounds on the upper
edge of the bed as he berates BMC.)

[Hoss]
"YA' DAMNED FOOL IDGET!!! YER' SWARTHY HIDE NEAR GOT US
BOTH KILT!!! YA' BETTER HAVE ONE HAIL OF AN EXPLANATION FER
PULLIN' A STUNT LIKE THAT, BOY!!!"

{BMC is oblivious, throwing empty beer cans, tools, a duffle bag,
and a potpourri of assorted items over his shoulder in a frenzied
search.)

[BMC] *screaming*
"IT HAD BETTER BE HERE, CHINGA!!! IF IT'S NOT HERE, YOU
WILL PAY, AND PAY DEARLY!!!"

[Hoss]
"What the hail are ya' blatherin' about now? What the..."

(BMC suddenly stops his maniacal scavenger hunt and slowly rises to
his feet. He slowly lifts up a stainless steel Haliburton,
fumbles nervously with the dials of the combination lock for
a moment, pops the latches, and slowly lifts the lid of the case
towards the camera, concealing its contents from both the camera and Hoss.)

[Hoss]
"Waddya' got there, boy? You holdin' out on a pile of cash,
there? I shore as hail could use some gas money there, pard'."

[BMC]
(gingerly rummaging through the Haliburton's contents for a
moment before slamming the lid shut when he realizes Hoss is leaning
over to see what's inside): "My friend, this case contains something
more valuable than money...something I will defend with my last ounce
of strength and last drop of blood...a duty I now charge you with
because of the trust I place in you...something that, in time, will
make everything crystal clear, my friend."

(BMC jumps out of the bed, clutching the case to his chest and gets
back into the truck before Hoss.)

[BMC]
"VAMINOS, CHINGA! CRAPLANTA AWAITS! VAMINOS!!!"

[Hoss]
(trudging back to his seat in the pickup with a muted, sarcastic
chortle): "Oh Lawd, this oughta' be interestin'."

(Another empty Lone Star can comes flying out of Hoss' window as the
lights of Atlanta form an ominous halo over the vehicles' silhouette
as it speeds towards its ultimate destination.)

Later that night, Hoss and Chitlin show up at the show, with Hoss offering an open invitation to anyone who wanted a piece of him. Damien Omega responded, as Michael Tate (MT) and Oliver Wendell Lord (OWL) do the announcing ...

Week 2, Part 5 -- http://jwhealton.googlepages.com/1Bpartfive.txt

Originally Posted by Total Pro Week 2

(((0))) "Oye Como Va (instrumental)" (Santana) (((0)))

{The camera quickly cuts to the ring to see Hoss Tumbleweed run
the referee out of the ring after dragging his huge gut under
the ring ropes. Blind Melon Chitlin deliberately walks up the
steps after yelling at a ringside fan, threatening him with a
slightly battered stainless-steel Haliburton that's handcuffed
to his left wrist. Hoss berates one of the ring crew until they
toss him a mic, which he misses and that brings another barrage
of foul yelling.}

OWL: And unless, I miss my guess, hell has just come to Total
Pro Wrestling.

MT: Folks, we had to cut the mikes on the cameras down there
or risk being taken out of the air. These two men, the
scourge of every wrestling federation they have ever
been in, for better, or for worse, are now in Total Pro
Wrestling.

(picking up the mic)

[Hoss]
Is this dang thing on? GOOD! So this here is SWA Total Pro?

(Hoss stomps around the ring yelling off-mic to fans)

I gots ta say. After fallin' asleep three times last week tryin'
ta watch the first show, thank the Lawd fer VCRs. Took me five
of them Grandes coffee thangs to get through it. I can see why
they needed Hoss. Alls I saw was a bunch of kids, heard a bunch
of noise they called music by people couldn't scrape Hank's boots,
and warn't impressed one bit.

Hail, I didn't even believe it til Chitlin showed me. Ya'll
gots a kimono filly calling shots 'round chere and even a baby
oven lacing up the boots fer fightin. I must've fast forwarded
over them parts. Ain't been but one woman who ever deserved to
set foot in this here squared circle and that was Blind Melon
Momma.

(Hoss hands the mic off to Blind Melon Chitlin and stomped around some
more. The crowd at this point is booing mercilessly)

[BMC] (making the sign of the cross as he begins speaking)
Mi sainted madre would never act in the disrespectful manner
as that shameless yellow tart, Nockedup Xylophone.

[Hoss] (leaning in to the mic to correct BMC)
Ya' got 'er name wrong, Chitlin. Ah thinks it's somethin' like
Hogmanure Likesherbutter. HAW! HAW! HAW! (Hoss leans back out
of the main shot)

[BMC]
Regardless of her unpronounceable moniker, she is nothing but a
low-rent geisha mop girl who would be best advised to keep her dainty
little lotus flower nose out of our business lest she incur our wrath
from day one. The atrocities her people perpetrated at Nanking will
look like child's play if she makes the foolish mistake of crossing
us. Just ask the witless boobs who crossed us in the VCW. Where
are they now? (looking around the crowd as if to spot someone he
recognized from the past) That's what I thought.

(Hoss grabs the mic back from BMC and shouts)

[Hoss]
But I did see a bunch of long-hair types goin' on-an-on bout
winnin' this belt here and there, an' about how their gonna win
this or that here in Total Pro. Word of advice young'uns, don't
nobody care about no hunk of metal, what they care about is who
can whoop the bulljive outta ya. Well, all you people are looking
at two men here who can beat the hail outta any fella they got in
the back.

Take them Ipodes outta yer ears and step up, Hoss' here.

(Hoss grins ear to ear, laughing raucously with BMC)

MT: So there they are, an open challenge by Hoss Tumbleweed
to anyone in the building!

OWL: And lookee lookee, no Willow Moongarden, no "Wild" Jodi
Wolf, no "Wildfire" Johnny Rage...

(((0))) "It's My Life" (Bon Jovi) (((0)))

(The lights go down and the music plays for a few seconds, before...)

(((0))) (sung) This is a song for the broken hearted (((0)))

(As the songs guitars kick back in, a lone spotlight hits the
entryway, and the walkway to the ring is being spotlighted with
several symbols that are recognized by the Greek letter "omega".
After a few seconds, a man walks out wearing close cropped blond
hair and simple black tights. He calmly, but with steeley-eyed
focus, slowly walks to the ring. The look on Blind Melon Chitlin's
face is one of shock as the crowd pops, some more than others.)

OWL: OK, what fool is coming out...oh.

MT: DAMIEN OMEGA! GOOD LORD, DAMIEN OMEGA IS *HERE* IN TOTAL
PRO WRESTLING, AND BLIND MELON CHITLIN COULD BE KNOCKED
OVER BY A STIFF BREEZE AT THIS POINT!!!

OWL: Meanwhile, Hoss looks livid that Omega has basically one-upped
their grand entrance!

MT: Folks, there's too much history here to give you in 25 words
or less, but back in the days of VCW, Omega was known as a
man called Actagon, and Chitlin made his life a living, breathing
hell for a long time. And I guarantee you that Damien Omega
has not forgotten one moment of it.

OWL: Tell both sides of the story here, Tait. The fact was Chitlin
and BMC Enterprises OWNED Actagon. He was kidnapped, beaten, had
his memories altered, the whole spicy enchilada! You can't sit
there and tell me that that's not going to be in the back of
Damien Omega's mind!

MT: I'm not sure what's on Chitlin's mind, but the man looks like
he's seen a ghost.

(As Damien Omega enters the ring, Hoss Tumbleweed goes after him as
BMC leaves the ring, haliburton in hand. Hoss gets a couple of hard
forearms across the back of Omega, followed by some fists. He whips
Omega to the ropes, but as Hoss lifts his leg on the rebound, Omega
stops short, hooks the leg, and pulls Hoss over with a hard legdrag
takedown that looked stiff due to Hoss's weight and his impact with
the mat.)

OWL: I think he's just shocked someone came out to face Hoss
Tumbleweed, and trust me, he's not called Hoss just because
he's mean as one.

MT: Tumbleweed wasting no time in going after Omega as referee
Geordi O'Brien is tied up getting Chitlin' out of the ring.
You're right, Hoss is 6 and a half feet plus, both tall AND
wide, and he's gonna be a hard man to bring down.

OWL: I know I'm right. That's why I get paid more than you.

MT: Hoss sends Omega to the ropes, looking for the big boot...
Omega stops and a DRAGON SCREW on Tumbleweed, sweet heavens,
there wasn't the velocity you normally get out of the dragon
screw legwhip, but Hoss did NOT come down comfortably on
that knee.

OWL: Did you see that, Tait! Omega punched him in the jimmies as
he went over.

(Omega stands behind Hoss and waits for him to get up. He then
executes a back brain kick on Hoss that sends him down to his knees,
then another one to finally get him face first on the mat. He
looks to the side where he sees BMC jawing with a ringside fan and
clips BMC with a baseball slide dropkick, sending Chitlin into the
railing.)

MT: HE DID NOT! Stop telling the fans at home things they
don't see for themselves.

OWL: But I'm trying to be fully descriptive. Mr. Chitlin has a
lot of fans in the blind community that might be listening
on radio tonight. He's a legend and an icon to the sightless.

MT: Chitlin isn't blind.

OWL: Please, the only person in Atlanta that's blinder is your
girlfriend!

MT: Omega with a hard enziguri kick that brings Hoss down
to his knees, back up, and ANOTHER ONE plants him
facedown on the mat! Omega's sure not backing down!

OWL: Man, I don't want to be Omega when Hoss finally gets his
footing again. There's one thing you don't do to a cowboy,
and that's make him look bad in front of the fans. *BIG POP*

MT: OMEGA WITH A BASEBALL SLIDE DROPKICK ON BMC as he was jawing
with a ringside spectator, and Chitlin never saw that one
coming.

OWL: That's because he's BLIND, dummy! I bet it takes you two
and a half hours to watch "60 Minutes."

(As Weed tries to get up, Omega continues to target his leg,
connecting with a chopblock on the leg, followed by a legtrip
takedown that brings Hoss down onto the mat. Omega then cinches in
a half crab for about a minute until Hoss makes it to the ropes.)

MT: Omega proving he's forgotten NOTHING about his history with Chitlin, as he waits for Tumbleweed to get to his feet, and connects with a chopblock to the leg. Omega trying to set himself up for the "Endgame", that Nagata lock.

OWL: Sooner or later Tumbleweed's gonna pull out a big ol' can of..

MT: WATCH IT!

OWL: ...I was gonna say RAID, to get rid of this pesky gnat that
keeps biting at him.

MT: Omega moving into his vast technical repertoire now as he
gets that leg cinched back into a half boston crab, continuing
to add to the damage that was caused earlier with that
dragon screw.

OWL: Meanwhile Chitlin's back up and he's MAD! I guess no one
ever told Omega not to play with the bull unless he wants
the business end of the horns.

MT: Omega has that crab locked in, and this is Omega's style of
match. Methodical, technical. For a while in his last
federation, Continental Wrestling, his outlook spoke out
highly against the proliferation of brawling and hardcore
wrestling. The fans didn't get that then, but I think
he's finally getting the message across. Sometimes you
gotta get down and dirty, but the name on the marquee, as
the cliche' goes, is wrestling.

OWL: And if there's a cliche' to be said, you're sure as heck
gonna say it, Tait.

MT: Hoss managing to pull himself to the ropes, and Omega breaks,
then SLOWLY drags Hoss back to center ring.

(Omega pulls Hoss away from the ropes and kneels onto Hoss' knee a
couple of times. He then crosses Hoss' legs and locks in a scorpion
deathlock)

OWL: That's no mean feat with a man that big. I read in his
bio that during his time off he was living on the Gulf
selling shade for a living!

MT: *CROWD POP* Omega trying to get Hoss turned over into a scorpion
deathlock, Ty Kross uses the elevated version of this move, but
it's no less effective on the ground, and Omega gets it turned
over!

OWL: Besides, he'd need a forklift to elevate Tumbleweed.

MT: So far, other than that opening flurry, Hoss has gotten virtually
NO offense against Damien Omega, while Omega has slowly been applying
pressure to that knee.

OWL: Meanwhile, BMC is hurling every Texas slur he can think of at
Tumbleweed in an effort to get him mad enough to kick it into
gear here.

MT: It may not be enough. BMC is chomping at the bit here to get in
there, but O'Brien is keeping a really close eye on him.

OWL: I'm impressed with the fact that Hoss hasn't tapped yet. He
is QUADRUPLE tough, and can take a lot of pain, but that leg
of his is really starting to get worn down.

MT: Tumbleweed using his upper body strength to SLOWLY drag himself across the ring towards the ropes, that's his only chance at
this point, as Omega may not be AS big as Hoss, but he's big
enough to not be powered out of this hold.

OWL: Hoss is reaching, reaching...and he gets there!

MT: Chitlin pulled him the last few inches to get there while
O'Brien was checking how Omega had the hold in!

(As Hoss pulls himself up again, he is favoring the leg heavily as
Omega moves in, hooks the leg again, and delivers another legdrag
takedown, followed by an elbowdrop right onto the leg. He
then puts Hoss center ring and looks right at BMC as he applies a
figure-four leglock)

OWL: That's what makes Chitlin one of the great criminal minds in
wrestling. He'll wait for that one second moment when the
referee isn't doing what he should have done, which was
keep on Hoss about a submission, and take advantage. Not
that Hoss is going to submit anyways.

MT: He might be close. Hoss can barely get up, that leg has
taken so much damage, as Omega hooks it again and ANOTHER
Dragon Screw, and he holds onto the leg and drops his
entire weight right across that leg, and Hoss is HURT.

OWL: Did you see that! He fell right on Hoss' groin! He had
to have, everything's bigger in Texas.

MT: Omega is back up and he moves into a spinning toehold
position...FIGURE FOUR LEGLOCK! Good God, that's CHITLIN'S
finishing move!

OWL: Is he actually trying to provoke Chitlin? He was looking
right at him when he finished the move.

MT: Hoss is in considerable pain, and Chitlin just HIT THE RING!
And he just tried to clock Omega with that briefcase!

*DING DING DING*

OWL: NOW you've done it, Omega. You've went and ticked off
the Chitlin. I hope this building has disaster insurance.

MT: Hoss is in pain right now and trying to roll out of the ring
as Chitlin is moving in with that Haliburton...*POP* Omega
with a right hand to the gut, and another, as Chitlin drops
the briefcase! He's got Chitlin, and whips him to the corner.
*BIIIIG POP* OMEGA EFFECT!!! Sommersault splash into the corner
and Chitlin staggers out!

OWL: That's not fair! Chitlin was a bystander.

MT: Are you on something, Oliver Lord? Chitlin attacked first. Omega
trying to get that briefcase but Chitlin LUNGED for that thing,
and now he's outside the ring as well, and DAMIEN OMEGA IS THE
ONE LEFT STANDING!!!

(((0))) "It's My Life" (Bon Jovi) (((0)))

OWL: This is not going to end well. I have NEVER seen Blind Melon Chitlin so angry.

MT: Hoss can barely stand. Damien Omega DOMINATED the former VCW World Champion from bell to bell and he needed Chitlin to save
his behind!

OWL: All this means is that Omega better be watching his back, his
front, and all sides. The last time ACTAGON in there ran
afoul of the Chitlin, it affected him for YEARS! What do you
think Chitlin is capable of NOWADAYS?

MT: Look at Omega's face. He doesn't care, he's not backing
down. That was a MESSAGE to BLIND MELON CHITLIN. THAT WAS
THEN, THIS IS NOW! NOT THIS TIME, NOT THIS FEDERATION.
Total Pro's got someone watching its back against Blind
Melon Chitlin Enterprises, and his name is NOT ACTAGON,
IT IS DAMIEN...OMEGA!

(The last shot is a closeup on the face of a determined looking Omega.)